Jack Chiltern's Wife (1999) (8 page)

A few minutes later they pulled out on the main road and jolted towards the distant huddle of buildings and spires which Kitty assumed was Paris. Gradually the roads became busier as other carts joined in a procession. There were walkers, too, women and children, carrying produce in baskets. They were poorly clad and looked down at the ground as they walked, as if they had nothing to look forward to. Was this what the great Revolution had done to the people of France? They were the ones who had jumped from the frying pan into the fire.

The line of carts came to a halt as the woods and fields gave way to a few sparse buildings. ‘The
barrière
of Saint-Denis,’ Jack murmured, as they stopped. ‘Now is the testing time.’

It took half an hour to reach the front of the queue; by then, Kitty was taut with nerves, as she watched some people being let through and others, whose papers, or perhaps only their looks, had been unsatisfactory and they were dragged off to be interrogated.

‘Papers, citizen,’ one of the guards demanded, holding a grubby hand up to Jack, who silently groped in his pocket and handed over the forged documents. While the guard perused them, his companion walked all round the cart, then stopped to stare up at Kitty.

Kitty looked dully back at him, trying not to let him see she was trembling. She pulled the blanket closer round her and stole
a sideways glance at Jack. He seemed totally relaxed although the guard was taking an inordinate time to examine their papers.

‘What have you got in the cart?’ said the one who was staring at Kitty.

‘Potatoes and cabbages,’ Jack answered for her.

‘Anything else?’

‘No.’

The guard moved to the rear of the cart and began throwing the produce out. Kitty was afraid he would soon discover the case. Something must be done or they were lost. She pushed Jack’s shoulder and began shouting at him in lamentable French, calling him a pig and a dog and beating her fists against his body, grunting with the effort.

For a second he did nothing, then he turned and cuffed her back, shouting even louder to drown her voice. It brought the guard back to their side.

‘The citizeness is a handful, old fellow. Can’t you shut her up?’

‘Would that I could,’ he said, trying to grapple with Kitty’s flailing arms. ‘Why, this is nothing to what she gives me at home. Grumble, grumble, all day long; I have not done this, I have neglected to do that. I don’t know why I didn’t leave her behind.’

The first guard had stopped looking at their papers and was standing watching them with a broad grin on his face as Kitty rained blows on Jack. He retaliated by slapping her face, an action which was as sudden as it was unexpected and silenced her.

‘What is she complaining of?’ the guard asked, while Kitty put her hand up to her cheek and pushed Judith away when she attempted to comfort her.

‘Say nothing,’ she hissed.

‘She complains of the cold, as if I could do anything about the weather.’

The man looked at Judith. ‘That one is quiet.’

Jack laughed. ‘Being well-padded she does not feel the cold. And she knows better than to hold up the National Guard when they are only doing their duty.’

‘Are you going to stand there talking all day?’ someone shouted from the cart behind them. ‘We’ve got work to do, even if you haven’t.’

‘On you go,’ the guard said, returning their papers. ‘And if you take my advice, citizen, you’ll leave the shrew behind tomorrow.’

‘I might do that,’ Jack called, as the barrier was lifted and they rumbled slowly into the city down the rue Saint-Denis, once a wide street of fine houses, but now looking decidedly dilapidated.

It was several minutes before anyone spoke and then it was Jack. ‘What was all that about?’ he demanded of Kitty.

‘Charades, you said, act the part.’

‘I didn’t tell you to bring the whole National Guard down on our heads.’

She grinned. ‘No, but I stopped them finding your case, didn’t I?’

‘What makes you think that it was important enough to take such a terrible risk?’

‘You hid it, didn’t you? And though it is a matter of indifference to me whether you are arrested or not, I did not want it discovered before we found James.’

He threw back his head and bellowed with laughter. ‘Oh, my, you’ll be the death of me,’ he said, wiping his eyes.

‘You ungrateful boor,’ she protested. ‘You pummel me black and blue and slap my face and then have the gall to laugh. That is the last time I shall try and help you.’

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Your help could have us all guillotined. From now on, remain silent and do nothing.’

She was still smarting, both literally and figuratively, and she would not give him the satisfaction of cowing her. ‘And if I don’t agree?’

‘Then you will be left to your own devices and sooner or later someone will start asking questions; if your answers are not entirely satisfactory, you will be arrested.’

‘What would I be accused of?’

‘Anything, it does not matter. It would soon be turned to an indictment as a traitor to the Republic.’

‘How can I be a traitor to France when I am English?’

‘A spy, then.’

‘What about you?’

‘Me?’ He turned to look at her. Beneath the surface dirt her cheeks were pink and he regretted that slap with all his heart, but she had started the scuffle and he had been forced to make it realistic. And he had to make sure she did not repeat the experiment. ‘I should deny all knowledge of you.’

‘I don’t believe you. The devil himself would not stoop to such an act of cowardice. You are bluffing.’

‘You think so? I advise you not to call my bluff, my dear, or you might have a rude awakening.’

‘Oh, Kitty,’ Judith wailed. ‘I never thought our position could be worse, but it is getting more dire with every minute. What are we to do?’

‘Shut up, woman,’ Jack said brusquely.

‘Yes, Judith, do be quiet, please. We are in Mr Chiltern’s hands and must trust him whether we like to or not.’

‘I am not Mr Chiltern, I am Jacques Faucon, your husband. citizen of France. Please remember that.’

‘All the same, you might at least acknowledge that I tried.’

‘You tried,’ he said laconically, staring straight ahead so that he did not have to look at her. She could melt the hardest heart and, though he pretended, he was not hard enough. She had been magnificent, beating him and screaming like any fishwife; if
there really had been something of importance in that case, she would have saved the day. ‘Do you think I am fool enough to conceal anything incriminating in a pile of cabbages? The case contains nothing but a bottle of brandy.’

‘Is that all?’

‘That is all.’

‘But why hide it?’

‘Something hidden is something someone wishes not to be found. The men would have triumphed in uncovering it. A smuggled bottle of cognac confiscated is a small price to pay for being allowed to pass.’

‘It was meant to be found?’

‘Yes. Now we will speak of it no more.’

She obeyed, falling silent. In truth, she was already regretting her impulse to show off her acting abilities; it could easily have resulted in tragedy, if he had not been quick thinking enough to answer her blow for blow. She had deserved to have her face slapped.

The streets were busy in spite of the cold and wet. But nearly everyone was dressed poorly and wore the red cap of the Revolution. Many of the men wore black-and-grey striped trousers and coats, while the women were clad in kirtles and wool-shag blouses, with the tricolour scarf knotted round their waists. Some had blankets thrown about their shoulders. All were bare-legged and wore heavy wooden
sabots
on their feet.

‘Why are there no gentlefolk?’ she asked.

‘Oh, there are. What you see is the fashion. Even the wealthy wear it to show they are one with the people.’

‘But do they have to appear so dirty?’

‘Soap is dear,’ he said.

The wide road became narrower and dirtier as they made their way into the heart of the city, towards the river, but before they reached it, they turned off into an alley. It was dark and dismal, its overcrowded tenements leaning against each other, its cobbles
wet and greasy, running with rotten vegetation and excrement. Judith flung her apron over her mouth and nose and Kitty did her best to quell the feeling of nausea which rose in her throat.

‘Where in God’s name are you taking us?’

‘Be quiet.’ This was a dangerous part of town and he was tense and on edge.

A few minutes later, having passed through with no more than an odd stare of curiosity, they came to the rue Saint-Antoine. ‘This is where it all began,’ he whispered. ‘Up there is the Bastille, taken by the mob in its search for weapons and powder.’

‘Surely you are not taking us there?’

‘No, but this is the district of the artisan. It is here that some of the grand furniture English homes set so much store by used to be made. The demand has fallen off of late.’

‘In these hovels?’

‘Yes.’ He pulled up outside one of them and jumped down, turning to help them alight. ‘You will be safe here.’

He threw a small coin to a ragged urchin to keep an eye on the horse and cart and conducted them into a dingy hallway. An open door to their right revealed a workshop, full of lengths of wood and half-finished chair legs. The floor and benches were covered in sawdust. Two people were at work, but they hardly spared the newcomers a glance as they passed and made their way up to the next floor. Jack knocked on the first of a series of doors.

It was opened by a man of about Jack’s age, wearing the universal trousers and rough wool shirt, over which was tied a large leather apron dusted with sawdust. He was a big man with tousled hair and shaggy eyebrows, also covered with sawdust. ‘Jacques!’ He held out his hand and Jack shook it. ‘You are a day late.’

‘Yes, Jean, my friend, I know, but it could not be helped. I am not alone.’ He turned and beckoned the two women to come
forward. ‘This is Kitty and this is Judith. We need your help. May we come in?’

‘Yes, of course.’ The man seemed a little reluctant to Kitty, but she could hardly blame him; she was coming to understand the fear that everyone seemed to have, the need to be vigilant, to view every newcomer with suspicion until they had proved themselves. Without Jack they would not even have passed the barrier, let alone found anyone to help them.

‘Kitty, this is citizen Jean Clavier and this …’ He turned to a woman who had risen from a chair before the fire. She was warmly clad in a wool gown with a shawl collar and long sleeves. She wore no cap and her short curls were a rich, bright auburn. ‘This is Thérèse, his wife. They are good friends of mine.’

Kitty and Judith both bent their knees and inclined their heads in greeting.

‘Lord, don’t do that!’ Jack said. ‘No one does that in France now, you will give yourselves away.’ He turned to Jean. ‘You see the problem I have?’

‘Why are they here?’ Jean growled, not liking what he saw. ‘You’re not smuggling aristos, are you?’

Jack laughed. ‘Not out of Paris, my friend, they wanted to come in.’

‘Then more fools they. And fool you are to help them. They will hinder you.’

‘I know, but they have been able to be of some service to me. You see before you citizen Jacques Faucon, his wife Kitty, a shrew if ever there was one, and her mother Judith, who remains silent and eats us out of house and home, which is why she has more meat on her than either of us.’

It was as well this speech was made in French and Judith could not understand a word, except her own name. She smiled at Jean and Thérèse, while Kitty endeavoured to smother a giggle.

‘You had better tell me all,
mon ami
,’ Jean said, drawing Jack into an adjoining room. ‘There have been developments while you have been away.’

What the two men said to each other, Kitty never knew, but it resulted in a grudgingly given agreement that she and Judith could stay there while Jack went out to try and locate James and conduct some business of his own. ‘I have to go to the market and sell my produce,’ he said. ‘It is important to keep up appearances, and the market is a good place to hear the latest news.’

Kitty bade him
au revoir
with a grateful heart; rough-hewn he might be, bad-tempered at times and not apt to spare her maidenly blushes, nor her pride, but he was strong and fearless and, for some reason she could not fathom, his deeds belied his words when it came to caring what became of her. She really did trust him, which was why she was dismayed when he had not returned by nightfall.

Jack’s non-appearance seemed to bother Jean Clavier too, for, after a frugal meal of salted herring which they all shared, he paced restlessly about the room, while his wife sat knitting by the fire, her needles clicking in the silence. A log dropped in the hearth, sending forth a shower of sparks, making Kitty jump. Jean pushed the log back with his clogged foot and stamped on the hearthrug which bore testimony to a great many sparks from previous fires; it was pitted with little black holes.

‘Well, he’ll not come tonight,’ he said, as the tocsin sounded over the city. ‘He’ll not risk being out after curfew.’

His wife put down her knitting on the table at her side and stood up. ‘Come with me,
citoyennes
.’ She lit a candle with a spill from the fire, set it in a holder and led the way out of the room and up a narrow staircase to a room in the attic. ‘You may sleep here tonight.’ She set the candle down on a chest. ‘Snuff this out as soon as you can, candles cost a fortune and we cannot
afford to waste them. Goodnight,
citoyennes
.’ With that she left, shutting the door behind her.

‘She’s not exactly welcoming, is she?’ Judith said, surveying the narrow bed, tucked under the sloping roof and wondering about bugs.

‘I expect she is afraid. She sees us as dangerous and she expected Jack to come back for us long ago.’

‘Where is he, do you think?’ Judith asked, as the hours ticked by and neither could sleep.

Kitty sighed. ‘I wish I knew, Judith, I wish I knew.’

J
ack was sitting in the back room of a café in the Palais Royal, gambling with as evil-looking a bunch of cut-throats as anyone would wish to meet. They had all been drinking heavily on thin red wine, laced with cognac from the bottle Jack had brought with him. Kitty had saved it from the guard at the
barrière
and he was putting it to good use.

The Palais Royal belonged to the duc d’Orléans, who had converted the ground floor into a colonnade of shops, clubs and cafés. Even though it was near the noisy market of Les Halles, the once-quiet precincts had become popular with idle Parisians for gambling.

The upper classes dared no longer show their faces, but gambling still went on there, and that led to other things: plots, counter-plots, rumours of plots. Here agitators and journalists congregated, talking sedition, writing posters, printing pamphlets and exchanging gossip. It was said that the Revolution had started here in 1789.

Over three years had passed since then and though the Legislative Assembly had tried to govern the country on behalf of the people, nothing much had changed; prices of bread, soap and candles were still exorbitant and taxes as crippling as they had been before. Now the government called itself the National
Convention, but stability was as far away as ever and everyone was angry and afraid.

What could a government prepared to execute a king be capable of doing? Mere nobles had no chance at all unless, like the duc d’Orléans, they embraced the new regime. They were arraigned, found guilty and executed, all in the space of a day or two, but still more were crammed into the prisons. Jack, who could find no sign of young Harston, was beginning to wonder if he were one of their number.

He was acutely aware that Kitty and Judith were waiting for him, but what he would do if he did not find James he had no idea. Take them back to Lucie and hope they would be safe? He certainly could not go back to England with his mission unaccomplished. Drat the women!

He had spent some time in the market, selling cabbages and asking questions, but had learned nothing except that France had, while they had been on the road from Calais, declared war on Britain and Englishmen were certainly not safe in Paris. James, who loved to play dangerous games, would not have let that stop him. He had told Jack he meant to infiltrate the meetings of the
Enragés
, an extreme revolutionary party, and find out what they were up to.

‘Our Government will pay handsomely for such information,’ he had said. ‘I will prove I can be of use to them and that will persuade them to give me other assignments. If you go to Horse Guards when you arrive in London, tell them that.’

Jack, who had been given instructions by the War Department to stop James from acting the fool and pack him off home, had been sitting at the gaming table most of the night, steadily losing money, hoping to hear news of the young man. The men he played with were
Enragés
, but obtaining information from them was hard work and time consuming, especially as he could not ask them outright.

‘Sugar and soap doubled in price,’ one of them said, in an interval in the play. ‘Coffee up to forty
sous
a pound, candles twenty. The people will not stand for it. It is all a plot to bring us to our knees and restore the aristos.’

‘What are you going to do about it, then?’ Jack growled, shuffling the cards before dealing.

‘Put the food stores in the hands of the people, control the prices, punish hoarders and speculators.’

‘Very commendable,’ Jack commented drily, dealing expertly. ‘But how will you keep law and order? More trials, more people imprisoned? Aren’t the prisons overflowing already?’

‘Who needs prisons when we have Madame Guillotine?’ another said, running a thin finger across his throat.

‘And you think that will satisfy the people?’

‘No, how can it?’ the first man said. ‘The lust for blood is insatiable. There are traitors behind every door and even those who are hailed as patriots today will be traitors tomorrow, you mark my words.’

His words were chilling, but Jack recognised the truth of what he was saying. ‘But what of the war? How can we hope to defeat
les Anglais
if we are continually watching our backs?’

‘
Les Anglais
will defeat themselves. The Revolution will spread to England and King George will soon know what it is like to bow to the will of the people.’

Jack had to tread carefully now. ‘How do you know this?’

‘From an Englishman.’ He paused to lay a card, while Jack held his breath. ‘Young puppy full of fire, hates all aristos, even English ones. He told us all it needs is the spark to ignite it.’

‘Where is he now?’

The man shrugged ‘Who knows? Gone to light the spark, perhaps. I haven’t seen him this last week. We have enough to do looking after our own. Until we are rid of all the aristos, we shall not rest. The Austrian whore must follow her husband to eternity, along with the bastards she has spawned.’

‘When will that be, do you suppose?’

‘Soon.’ He looked closely at Jack. ‘What interest do you have in the widow Capet?’

‘None at all.’ He paused, knowing it was risky to go on, but remembering his promise to his father-in-law, he decided to risk it. ‘My interest is in the
ci-devant
comte de Malincourt,’ he went on, fingering the handle of a wicked-looking knife he had stuck in his belt. ‘I have a score to settle with him.’

‘Him!’ Another of the four broke in, contempt in his voice. ‘He fled with his family to England, in ‘eighty-nine, cowards and traitors all of them. I spit on them.’ And he spat on the floor at his side before taking another mouthful of wine from the glass at his elbow.

‘His daughter married an Englishman, so I heard,’ the fourth man put in, then laughed. ‘Cuckolded him with a citizen from the French Embassy in London, who brought her back to Paris.’

‘That so?’ Jack asked lazily. ‘Where are they now?’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘If the father has escaped, then the daughter will do.’

‘I hate to disappoint you,
mon vieux
, but Madame Guillotine got there before you.’

‘She’s dead?’ For a split second he let his shock and horror show, but quickly took control of himself. ‘
Mon Dieu
, and I had been looking forward to doing the job myself. How did it happen?’

‘The diplomat had ambition, he wanted to join the élite of the Jacobin Club. The price was the lady’s head. He paid it gladly.’ He looked down at the card Jack had just discarded. ‘Fool! Why throw away your best trump? Anyone would think you felt sorry for the bitch.’

Jack pulled himself together to answer him. ‘No, it’s one less Malincourt in the world.’ But he felt sick. Gabrielle, the beautiful, the enticing, the siren, his faithless wife, was dead. She had been taken from prison in a tumbril to the Place de la Révolution
where, surrounded by a howling mob, her lovely head had been severed from her body. No woman deserved that fate, whatever she had done.

The game ended and the winner scooped up the pot, just as the tocsin sounded the lifting of the curfew. Jack pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘I must go to my work.’

‘What work is that, citizen?’

‘Clerk to citizen Blanchard, the brewer.’

They laughed. ‘A good job, citizen. You should hang on to it. Bring a few extra bottles with you tonight.’

He said he would, though he doubted he would see them again. He had to find James Harston and the sooner the better. Life for an Englishman—or an Englishwoman—in France was set to become very uncomfortable; the sooner James took his sister home to England, the better. He told himself that he would be well rid of the pair of them.

By the morning of the third day Kitty was beginning to despair and Madame Clavier was growing more and more tetchy. On one occasion Kitty heard her telling her husband they should turn the Englishwomen out before they themselves were denounced for harbouring them. To give him his due, Jean had turned on her angrily, saying Jack was his friend, a brave and honourable man who had important work to do, and he would not turn his back on him. But even he had sounded worried.

‘I think we are a burden to them,’ Kitty said, when Judith remarked once again that
madame
was lacking in hospitality. ‘It is clear they are very poor.’

They were dressing in their garret room, which was so cold the inside of the windows was patterned with frost and there was a layer of ice on the jug of water which stood on the table beneath it. ‘Offer them money, then, for I am heartily sick of fish and vegetable soup.’

‘If Mr Chiltern is not back by mid-day today, I shall assume he is not coming and we will leave.’

‘You think he has abandoned us?’

‘
Madame
thinks so and he did threaten it.’

Judith stared at her. ‘But do
you
think it?’

Kitty sighed. She had done nothing but find fault with the man ever since she had met him, but until he had left them, she had not appreciated how much he had done for them, much of it to his own inconvenience. Now, she wished she had showed herself more grateful. Without him to make decisions, to tell her what to do, she felt lost.

And deep down inside her, so deep she refused to acknowledge it, was the memory of that kiss. Had she really reacted so warmly? What must he have thought of her? No wonder he treated her with so much contempt; she deserved it. But she wanted him back. She wanted him back for all sorts of reasons she dare not analyse.

‘I don’t know what to think, but I cannot just sit here and do nothing,’ she said. ‘Perhaps he has been taken into custody for having forged papers, perhaps he has been waylaid by cut-throats and thrown in the river, perhaps something terrible has happened to James and …’

‘And perhaps you have a lively imagination, miss.’

‘What would you have us do?’

‘Me? Why ask me?’ the maid said huffily. ‘You did not ask my opinion before you left home, or I might have given it. You chose to trust a complete stranger, who is most decidedly not a gentleman, so what can I say? You must do as you please.’

‘Oh, Judith, please don’t let us quarrel, we have troubles enough without that.’

Judith softened. ‘I am sorry, my love. It is all this waiting about and idleness. I never could abide being idle. But if we leave, where could we go?’

‘To the British Embassy. They must know the whereabouts of all English people in Paris.’

They sat in their room in the cold rather than get under Madame Clavier’s feet, but they went down in the middle of the day and were given a bowl of soup made of fish bones and onions, which was so thin it had little nourishment.

Afterwards they offered Jean money and told him they were leaving. He protested they should wait a little longer for Jack, but his wife contradicted him.

‘He must have been discovered,’ she said. ‘He’s in prison or dead. And we shall be next if we give shelter to France’s enemies. Let them go.’

It looked as if there might be a serious falling out between husband and wife which Kitty solved by putting a gold sovereign on the table and leaving, followed by Judith. Once outside, Kitty hesitated, wondering which way to go, then decided to walk towards the centre of the city, where they would be able to ask directions.

The noisome alleys were busy and they walked close together to avoid being separated. Bands of women were flocking along the streets, shrieking obscenities and carrying bags of flour and sugar. Some were armed with pikes and knives; a few had muskets. Nervously Kitty and Judith pressed themselves against the wall to allow them to pass.

‘I never saw such a bloodthirsty lot,’ Judith said after the women had passed on. ‘Where are they going with all that stuff? Do you suppose they’ve looted it?’

‘Perhaps, but it need not concern us,’ Kitty said, anxious to be away from what was obviously a very unsavoury area and to find somewhere more wholesome. ‘Let’s hurry.’

But there was no escaping the rioting women. They were everywhere, dashing into shops and coming out loaded with food, shouting,
‘Vive la République!’
as if that justified what
they were doing. Kitty and Judith, trying to make a way through the crowds, found themselves carried along with the tide.

‘Please let me pass,’ Kitty said, pushing against the shoulders of one woman who barred her way.

The woman’s answer was to knock her to the ground, so that she was almost trampled underfoot.

‘Have a care!’ Judith shouted, wading in to push aside the women who surrounded her mistress. ‘Let my lady up. You will trample her to death.’

‘What do you say?’ another shrieked, stopping in her tracks. ‘What language is that?’

Judith did not understand, so she ignored the harridan and bent over Kitty to help her to her feet, revealing the hem of a warm flannel petticoat beneath her peasant kirtle.

‘
Mon Dieu
, what have we here?’ the woman cried, lifting Judith’s skirt and flinging it over her head. ‘Look at this! Petticoats and drawers!’ And with that she kicked Judith’s backside, toppling her face down into the mud, amid raucous laughter.

‘And this!’ another said, pulling Kitty to her feet and subjecting her to the same treatment. ‘Two petticoats, one flannel and one fine cotton trimmed with lace. And look here, a corset!
Citoyennes
, I do believe we have found ourselves a couple of aristos.’

All this was spoken idiomatically and very quickly, so that Kitty’s French was unequal to the task of translation, but she did recognise the word ‘aristos’.

‘No,’ she said in halting French. ‘We are not aristocrats, but ordinary British citizens.’

‘Anglais!’
One of the women spat at them. ‘Enemies of the Republic. Enemies of France.
À la lanterne!’

The women seemed to have forgotten their original purpose and abandoned the flour and sugar. They grabbed Kitty and Judith and forced them to march with them, shouting, ‘
À la lanterne! ’

Kitty struggled in vain and Judith’s invective against the heathen scum, as she called them, along with other names Kitty was shocked to hear, only served to inflame the mob even more and Kitty was obliged to tell her to be quiet.